Ride the... Wawanakwa?

Chapter One

(A/N: Now, everyone. Your lucky number is seven, you will soar to great heights, and be sure to Ride The Cyclone. Strap in.

CW for this first chapter, this is the graphic violence/desciptions of gore portion, as well as a wordy prologue for the musical that Does Not exist outside of my own imagination, and others' interpretations, including the MCD warning.
Enjoy!)

The machine whirred to life before me, a robotic tone chiming from a worn-down voice box.
"Your lucky number is... Seven! You will soar to great heights, and be sure to ride the cyclone," it rang out, almost mimicking a bad game-show host.

I glanced to the others. We'd gotten almost identical fortunes, barring Izzy, who'd not spoken to the Amazing Don, in favour of hanging around her little brother. The choice of action confused me. Of course, I love my siblings, but this was supposed to be a fun choir day out, not a day to be around someone you saw all of the time anyway, nor a day to be around family.
"Well, whatever," I murmured, exiting the weird tent in which Don lay, pupil-less eyes glowing in the small fabric enclosure.

"Right, so who was next on ride suggestion? The fair is closing down for the night soon, given it's just past six, and we've already gone through mine - the Bumper Cars -, Noah's - the Ferris wheel-, Izzy refuses to tell us hers, and I think we've done yours, haven't we, Alejandro?" Courtney questions, checking off choir members on her fingers.
Her, the 'lead singer' and chief of the choir; though, if I were to be honest, she always sang a little flat, or a lot sharp;
Me, the high tenor who mostly carried melody or any scatting and acapella, as seen from our performance in the concert hall barely an hour earlier;
Alejandro, the low tenor who carried beat and some rhythm, was also mostly in charge of acapella and background sound;
Cody, who couldn't sing because he couldn't speak, and instead usually played background music, like piano or organ;
Izzy, a high soprano who carried melody and should have honestly been choir head had she not joined yesterday;
And Finally, Gwen, the nice one who made sure everything was in order, and really took care of the choir, in all honesty.

And that was the choir. Six people, shoved together and made to mesh with the world given to them.

"Yeah, we've done mine. Shooting Gallery, remember?" Alejandro speaks up, pointing a thumb back to the open stall, small ducks circling a track, a small child trying to lift a gun almost as long as he was tall with his father's encouragement.

"Right," Courtney mutters, trying to collect her thoughts. "How about we do Gwen's next, so the Cyclone, then whatever Cody wants, and then go home?" She offers, turning to the rickety rollercoaster as she speaks. It didn't look like the *worst* machine in the place - arguably, the drop tower was far worse - but definitely could have been in better condition.

"Everyone still has their passes, right?" Gwen confirms, pulling at the neon yellow strap around her wrist as a demonstration. We all followed suit, except Cody, who had been using his hands to keep himself upright, as well as having his strap around his crutches instead, and fairly obvious to anyone so much as passing by.

Izzy was lost in the world between her brother and herself, as he handed her over a pale porcelain doll, sporting blonde ringlets and a black headband, pale blue eyes and black lashes, presumably one of the variety with closing eyes. Alejandro nudged her in the shoulder, guiding her with the rest of our party of six to the old coaster, sporting a large wooden sign that read, "Don't Forget To Ride The Cyclone!" in a close to gibberish manner, given the words were mixed up among a cartoonish cyclone.

- 🌀 - 🎢 - 🏝️ -

The coaster sped down the track, rattling and creaking metal against metal.
Gwen looked to be having the time of her life, her green bob flying behind her, a grin plastered on her face.
Courtney just kept staring at the track, worried about something. Probably the noises the coaster kept making.
Alejandro clung to his bar, eyes darting around the sky around us.
I glanced behind me, to Izzy and Cody. Cody just sat there, lost in his own world, as per usual, while Izzy clung to her doll and stared right ahead, red curls flying behind her and into the open air.

We raced through the loop-de-loop, reaching the tippy top of it, right upside down, before we heard a loud, metallic crunch ring out through the fairground. Alejandro shrieked, a loud, strange combination of "Fuck!", "Shit!" and just straight-up screaming.
The world seemed almost frozen, as the front-left axle spat sparks. The coaster had derailed, and we were plummeting.

Our seat bars lifted, seemingly a safety mechanism gone horribly wrong, and we're sent flying through the air, across the park. A piece of metal seems to fly at Izzy's neck, and before anybody can so much as react beyond screams, and in Gwen's case, crazed giggles, her red curls are tainted with her blood, her head flown into the base of the loop, with a sickening wet crack. Alejandro was impaled on a small nearby tree, the last I'd seen, my fall ending not much after as I landed on my shoulder, my neck snapping and my vision going. As my hearing fades out, the last thing I hear is something muttered in Spanish, barely audible, and shrieked laughter from Gwen.

- 🌀 - 🎢 - 🏝️ -

"Our Six Saints," the headlines read, showing a portrait of the whole choir, taken just days before the tragic accident, costing the lot of them their lives. Conveniently enough, none of the photos shown, on various channels and in any newspaper across Saskatchewan, contained Izzy.
Her body was never identified, her brother was deemed too unstable to be trustworthy, and her parents were just not around to claim it as their child's.
All that was found was her body, lain flat on the grass beside the coaster wreckage, surrounded by porcelain shards, two small glass eyes, and blonde, flaxen doll hair. Her head was nowhere to be seen, and by the time the police had determined the identities of the other children, neither was the coaster.

Alejandro's phone was found beside the tree that'd impaled him, smashed to pieces on the gravel. It was still warm when the ambulance arrived, as though it had been very recently used, even after the fifteen minute driving time from the hospital to the fairground.

Don had been right, they had all flown high, and all of their ride passes had contained strings of numbers missing only their "Lucky number" of the possible 10 digits. He had also predicted their deaths, on the cyclone, just after having been spoken to by him, and the ominous mention of the ride slipping their minds.

And now their minds had slipped from the ride into the afterlife.

(A/N: Can you tell I've only ever been in primary school choir? I hope not. I'm mostly basing this off of their roles in the musical itself, and how they song and play roles specifically in Fall Fair Suite.)